A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Gave me a purse, and told me to take both of ’em up to Harwich and put them on a packet for Holland. . ’ Handing over the guineas, he added, ‘For you. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. " Thus urged, Jack reluctantly departed. Drink the toast, Jack. “It’s nothing to what I WILL do.
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